


The Courting Habits of Killers

by FhimeChan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: All the crack!, Alternate Season/Series 02, Beverly Katz Lives, Beverly Katz is the Best, Crack, Crossdressing, Dark Will Graham, Fluff, I had way too much fun coming up with this, M/M, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, meta crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-26 22:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/pseuds/FhimeChan
Summary: An anternative chapter 3 for Nera_Solani's story, "The Courting Habits of Killers".Will is leaving a trial of aesthetically pleasing murder tableaus to catch Hannibal's attention, and possibly his heart. But is it really the best way to carry out a courtship? Beverly doesn't think so.





	The Courting Habits of Killers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nera_Solani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nera_Solani/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Courting Habits of Killers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501615) by [Nera_Solani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nera_Solani/pseuds/Nera_Solani). 



> This story was written for the April Fic Swap and is a direct continuation of Nera_Solani's story. It's my silly wish fulfillment for chapter 3.   
> I'd suggest you read the original first. If you don't have time, know that we have dark!Will who just got out of prison and has started his own murderous mating ritual with Hannibal. 
> 
> Thank you Rainy for fighting me over almost every sentence and making my story much, much better for it! :D

It is early evening when Will returns to his house in Wolf Trap. Hannibal has looked as if he wanted to invite Will for dinner, but it wasn't yet the time. They have made progress during that session, and Hannibal needs some time to reshape his perception of Will into something closer to reality. Will is looking forward to it.

In the meantime, it's time to shed his pressed clothes and feed the dogs.

“Will Graham, you disappoint me.”

For a moment Will thinks the voice comes from his own brain, because he has seen Beverly sliced to pieces, so how can she stand in the middle of his house? And yet, the trail of crumbs over her t-shirt and the wet spots left by the dogs on her jeans would be out of place in a hallucination.

Even if Will is caught by surprise, with an arm stuck inside the sleeve and his scarf draped hazardously around his neck, his survival instincts kick in and he appeases the situation. She’s part of the police and she’s broken into his house, but she’s also smiling and absently petting Winston fur. Not dangerous. Not now, at least.

Will resumes unrolling his scarf, a rare spontaneous smile on his face. Beverly is alive. He hopes it isn’t just his encephalitis relapsing, because he has really missed her. Though, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if she gave him no choice.

“Care to explain?” While showing the full extent of his curiosity would put him at disadvantage, Will allows himself this one generic question. It would be strange not to ask.

“How I survived?” She grins. “Well, because I’m awesome and I can’t die alone in a basement.” She doesn’t give Will any time to reply. “But we were talking about you.”

Will decides not to press his point. Not now at least. He must figure out why she’s here, first. He hangs his coat and faces her. “You claim to be disappointed. I wasn't aware you had expectations.”

Beverly pats her t-shirt to throw away the crumbles, then bumps her fist on Will's shoulder. “We're not talking about my expectations, Graham. Are you aware of the role of a titles in a piece of literature?”

Will hides his confusion by giving the correct answer. “It informs the reader about the content they're about to encounter.”

Beverly rewards him with a nudge of her elbow. “Yes. Tone, topic, presence or absence of jokes… The title is possibly the most underrated element of a story.”

Will briskly nods his assent. ‘Jokes’, she has said. He thinks he knows where this conversation is going, and doesn't like it.

Beverly puts his hands on his flanks, half serious, half mocking. “Well, Will… You aren't fulfilling your title. _Courting habits of killers_.” She looks at him expectantly. “Well?”

Will is careful not to hold his breath, because if Beverly wants to get a confession out of him, this isn't how she will get it. “Hannibal counts as one killer. Matthew Brown was another. They both tried to court me, so…”

She waves him off. “Yes, sure, that's not the part I'm talking about. There are enough serial killers in Baltimore to fill the entire state.”

Will snorts. True. That’s why he has moved there, after all. Easy to hide his own crimes.

Beverly continues, “Probably you and Lecter alone are enough for the entire state.”

Will is careful to keep his expression impassive while he decides what to do. Usually he kills whoever suspects him, but she isn’t threatening him. Better to buy time and deny. “I'm not...”

“Cut it out.” Beverly points a finger at his chin. “I didn't entertain your victim's husband until you were done with that prima ballerina show to hear your excuses.” Will blinks, analyzing the new information. She’s helped, so probably she doesn’t mean to report him. Good. “ _Courting_ habits, Will.” Beverly raises an eyebrow. “Where's the court?”

Beverly is too precise to use the wrong word, so she can't mean ‘courtship’. Feeling a bit like a trivia participant, Will mentally lists the definitions of ‘court’. He refuses to believe she means a tribunal, not after his recent experience in prison, and he doesn't feel particularly inclined to play tennis.

That doesn’t leave many options. Will frowns. “You can't possibly talk about an actual court. We’d need some royals, for a start.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “Hannibal is a count, Will, half of the job is already done. And I bet that with your _imagination_ , you can figure something out.”

Will huffs in annoyance, but he realizes that Beverly has a point. With his empathy, Will can pick up even the smallest hints, can effortlessly flow through multiple layers of meaning, and yet any conversation with Hannibal requires all his attention. While he could pretend that the fact that he’s courting Hannibal fulfills the title, he also knows that Hannibal would want him to go much deeper in meaning and include an actual court into the story. He would definitely appreciate the pun.

Under Beverly's amused gaze, Will balances the pros and cons of correcting his actions according to her critique. What would be the price?

Will doubts he can achieve more than some Hollywood-styled, modern stereotype of a court, but actually their current situation isn’t so far from that. Hannibal’s manners are positively old-fashioned. His house resembles a mansion, and, Will realizes, every technological implement is carefully relegated to a corner.

Will's eyes widens in realization as he understands that Hannibal has already adjusted everything, and without Will noticing. Which, on the other hand, is very frustrating.

Will shrugs. “Seems like Hannibal had it covered. Not much else I can do, unless I show up in a carriage and high heels.”

Beverly’s grin widens.

Will crosses his arms over his chest and tries to sound stern. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You need something flamboyant and unmistakable, traditional yet elegant… You need a dress.”

In a way, she's a point. It would perfectly suit Hannibal’s flair for the dramatic. Yet there’s no way Will is going to put on a dress to appease the hidden meaning of a title. That would reveal too much of his commitment, and ruin his carefully constructed plan.

Beverly intervenes. “I'll arrest you for murder if you don't. I bet your clothes are still somewhere around the victim's house, covered in dog hair and in the victim's blood.”

Being a fisherman himself, Will can recognize when the prey is trapped, and further protests would be ludicrous. His last resorts, albeit useless, are sarcasm and a slight grimace. “No ribbons.”

Beverly grins, giving Will another playful push. "Whatever you say, Graham. Tomorrow we're going shopping."

* * *

Beverly takes the bed, and after one night on the armchair Will feels very much unprepared to deal with the situation. While Beverly drives him to the city, he decides to give up and ask again. “How did you survive?” 

Beverly, way too chipper so early, says. “Easy. I had a mission to fulfil.” They pass in front of a bridal shop and to Will’s horror Beverly turns towards the parking lot. “Who else would be able to drag you here?”

While Will is distracted by the giant glittering horrors in the window, she unbuckles both their seat belts and drags Will out.

“Come on, don’t make that face. There aren’t many places where you can find the big fluffy dresses a count would approve of. And I called ahead so they're expecting us.”

She’s right, so Will lets her lead him inside, where he has just enough time to took in the countless rows of white tulle and silk when he's surrounded by three very excited employees.

“Gloria, look at his ankles. We can do so much with them!”

“Vic, see his complexion? Oh, he'd look so beautiful in salmon orange… “

“With those eyes? Dark blue, anything else would be a waste!“

Beverly has mercy at Will's gobsmacked expression. She inserts herself in the middle of the group and links arms with Will. “Hey ladies, try not to make his fiancé jealous.” Will is a beat too late in his protest, so Beverly continues with a wink and a question. “Now, where's the dressing room?”

They're directed to a pedestal surrounded by three mirrors, and the first dresses are carried in. There are way too many flowers and frills and _ribbons_ , because Beverly is that sort of traitor, and Will knows when it's time to retire into his inner stream.

* * *

Will invites Beverly into his mindspace, where she sits on a log. There’s something centering in the tension of the rod in Will’s hands, on his contained twists when the fish pulls. Mind clear, Will asks his question. 

“Why didn't you arrest both of us?”

A cloud covers the sun, and the darkness momentarily covers Beverly's face. “You tried to arrest Lecter, and we all know how that went. You have already been in prison, and as a result Jack is giving you a clean record and enough leeway to kill whoever you want.”

Will perceives, rather than sees, how she fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt. He understands her frustration at what she must have seen as a misturn of justice, and how difficult her decision to become his accomplice had been. When she looks up, he feels her sadness.

“I think… I think there'll be way less loss this way. Maybe… Maybe you can even stop him.” She shrugs. “I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. But it seemed worth a try. After all, you killed a notorious rapist in your first act out of prison. I can live with a couple of vigilantes in town.“

Will doesn't trust himself to answer.

She’s clinging to the hope of a better future, she’s trying to save lives by pushing him more quickly into Hannibal’s arms. He would be a monster if he explained how they won’t stop, how he didn’t care his first victim was a rapist.

He turns the reel once, accepting his complete absence of guilt. He isn’t who she thinks he is, and he’s out of prison because of blind luck. Beverly still sees light in him.

He makes an effort to smile at her, and Beverly returns a small grin. She must never know the truth, because that, at least, would be too cruel.

* * *

Will dares to leave the stream only when they're waved out of the shop by the three emotional employees. The world comes back into focus together with the awareness that multiple layers of red fabric are brushing against his calves, and that the dress is gently hugging his waist.

He stops just outside of Beverly’s car, breathes deeply and looks down at himself. No ribbons, thankfully. Also, a generous décolleté and a tight fit against his ass. His eyes widen as he recognizes the dress from another Andrew Atroshenko's painting. Dance. 

Thematically flawless, he must concede that to Beverly.

Still.

The parking lot is deserted, and Will knows exactly how to curve his lips to obtain an evil, slightly crazy, threatening smile. “I could kill you now, and nobody'll know.”

Beverly rummages into her pockets, ignoring him as she searches for the keys. “Oh, you like me too much for that.”

“ _Hannibal_ could kill you.” Will’s voice comes out sulking. The dress is pressing his thighs together, severely limiting his mobility. “For real, this time.”

She unlocks the car, and steps inside. “No, because he likes you and you'd be pissed.”

Will blocks the door before she can close it. “One day you'll pay for this, Katz.”

In answer, Beverly reaches for the backseat and pushes a single white rose into Will's hand.

* * *

It’s a short drive to Hannibal’s house. Will decides to try for the last time. 

“Are you sure you can just appear at Hannibal’s doorstep?”

Beverly winks. “With you in this outfit he won’t even notice me.”

Will feels his face heating. He’s actually doing it. Instead of luring Hannibal with a series of murders, he’s going to show up at his door draped in a dress. While he knows that Hannibal will appreciate his efforts, the situation requires a different type of confidence.

He's out of the car and in front of Hannibal’s house - no, mansion, because they’re playing courtiers now - before he can backtrack. Beverly is still in her jeans and t-shirts, and Will would protest the unfairness of it, except that she’s too quick to ring the bell.

Well, no more time to think. Hannibal answers the door in a three piece suit, and Will appreciates for the first time how timeless that attire looks. They match, now.

Keeping his eyes at ground level, Will curtsies in a shuffle of red waves of fabric, then brings the rose right in front of him. In his agitation, he gets stung by a thorn. “Count Lecter, please accept this small token of my affection.”

He hopes Hannibal will forgive him if the picture they paint is pretty much twentieth century.

* * *

Red. As blood, beautiful worthless blood, spraying with force from a severed jugular. As desire, passion. Seduction. As love.

As Will Graham, the only object of Hannibal’s desires, coming at his door with a dress which states his crime, together with his willingness to commit to this courtship at every level.

Clutching a white rose too forcefully, leaving a single bloodstain on its stem.

Hannibal could maybe be too overwhelmed to think straight, hit by too many revelations and possibilities at once, but he knows the script.

He reaches for the rose, delicately laying it down on a small table close to the door, then takes Will's red-smeared hand. He raises it to eye level, until Will looks at him. He's blushing deeply, down to his exposed neck, and his eyes are so lively as they shyly meets Hannibal’s.

Hannibal is entranced by his gaze as he kisses Will's wrist, reveling in the permission to touch, then licking the small droplets of blood still there.

More blood flows to Will's face. There are still mysteries to be unfolded there. Lies to decipher. A power struggle yet to be resolved. Hannibal is aware he’s about to give Will more power over himself than he has planned to.

And yet.

“I accept.” He falls on one knee in front of Will. “Would you do me the honour of marrying me?“

Will hasn't taken his eyes off him. There are doubts, and dark thoughts Hannibal can't wait to unravel but everything is swept away by pure, incandescent happiness.

“Yes.”

There is silence, and they both smile helplessly, not believing what just happened.

Then there is Beverly. “So… When are we going back for the white dress?”

Remembering his manners and ignoring Will's glare, Hannibal bows to her. “Miss Katz. What a pleasure.”

Will looks between him and Beverly, then raises an eyebrow at Hannibal. “Would you please tell me how she's alive? I thought you ate the rude.”

Hannibal hesitates, but only for a moment. “Every great love story requires a nurturer, someone who would read the signs and help the two lovers in finding their happiness.” He kisses the corner of Will's mouth. “I couldn't bear to deprive the world of someone who saw our potential with such clarity.”

Will looks up from under his lashes, eyes twinkling with amusement, and Hannibal feels his heart beating faster. This man will be his husband, soon. 

Beverly interrupts, addressing Will. “Hannibal means that I traded my life for the trial pictures of you in your underwear.“

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!  
> Feedback is particularly welcome because I'm nervous about this!


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